The definition of psycho.

I don't really consider myself as a stalkable type of girl, but I guess for every and any girl there are at least 12 scary guys who could possibly stalk you.

I went out with this guy JUST ONCE, a little over a year ago. After the one date we went on, I knew I wasn't into him. I'm not the kind of girl to stay with a guy "just because". I have to really like him. And I just wasn't into this guy. To tell you the truth, I thought he was a bit too intense and had way too much emotional baggage. I understand falling for the guy who needs fixing, but I'm not interested in that... I've been there and done that, and I realize it sucks major ass. I could trash-talk him more, because there was a lot to say, but I don't think that's fair.

So anyway, I told him that I wasn't interested in him "like that". I told him that I also don't stay friends with guys that I've been out with, because I don't want to risk unrequited-feelings on either side. Plus, I wasn't looking for friends. I have friends and they are WAY too much AWESOME to handle already. So I don't really need anymore. If I happen to get more, that's cool, but I wasn't going to force a friendship or have small-talk with yet another aquaintance. Sounds bitchy? Yeah, well I try and be nice about it, but it's the truth.

I told him this before we even went out on the date. I reminded him of all this the day after our date too. Then, probably a day or two after our date, I had a very serious family emergency, where I thought my dad was not going to make it. By pure coincidence, he called me right after my dad was taken to the hospital by ambulance (even though I'd just spoken to him the day before, but whatever).

I told him I couldn't talk to him, that there was an emergency with my dad, and I had to go. But he kept talking. Actually, whining. It was closer to begging. I mean, he literally ignored the fact that I was very upset and started asking me why I didn't want to be with him.

I was beyond disgusted and pissed.

It's usually difficult to make me mad, but if you somehow manage to do it, you'll see me blow up and say exactly what I'm thinking at the time. Anyway, I was at my breaking point already and hearing him go on and on, interrupting and talking over me, completely disregarding my feelings and my family emergency... well, it totally set me off. I told him I didn't EVER want to talk to him again and I didn't want to be friends and to NEVER call me again. And CLICK, I said goodbye and hung up.

He called back several times that evening, and I eventually turned my cell phone off for the night to get some sleep, because one of the calls came in at 2AM from some high-pitched whiny chick friend of his who was asking me why I was "mad" at him. Like we were in f-cking 6th grade or something! I hung up on her after telling her to never call me again either. He called me back a half-hour later and I answered again because I was half-asleep once more. I told him AGAIN to never call me. He called the next day a few more times. I didn't answer.

He called me every single day for a month following, and sometimes he would call multiple times a day. Most days he would just hang up after my voicemail picked up, but sometimes he would leave usually very drunken messages begging/whining on my voicemail. At times he would call from unknown numbers and I would answer the phone. Everytime I would hang up on him or tell him to PLEASE STOP CALLING. After a while I started loathing hearing my phone ring. It would make me cringe. I kept telling myself, "Why should I have to change my phone number? He's the psycho, why should I have to pay for that" and I never changed my number.

Finally, after a month of being scared whenever my phone rang, I wrote him an email telling him for the 8th or 9th time to stop calling. This time, I also told him that he was scaring me and that I would be calling the police for a restraining order if he did not stop immediately.

The calls stopped a couple days later.

He called again in the summer of 2006, just once. I figured he was just drunk and was doing it "one last time" just to mess with me.

Now, this last Thursday evening, he called me about 10-12 times in a row, and left 5 very drunk voicemails on my phone. I keep saying to myself "This is the last time, then I'm changing my number." But when is it really the last time?

This time, I hope.

All guys: a flowchart of truth.

10:42 AM Jen: you know you only get hit on by creepy guys and toothless folk.

Nadine: YEAH, WHAT IS THAT?Nadine: GEES!

10:44 AM Jen: i dunno, it's the laws of nature.

10:45 AM Jen: because hot guys are too busy thinking about how hot they are too notice you.Jen: sometimes they pass by mirrors and accidentally hit on themselves. Jen: but that's about as close to hitting on anyone as they get. Jen: here, i will make you a flowchart to illustrate my point.

10:48 AM Nadine: A FLOW CHART

Nadine: I WANNA SEE THIS

(click image to enlarge.)

I should probably do a chicks one too, to be fair.

New Year's Eve, in which Echo dents my car.

Okay, so my friend Echo says I need to "post some funny stuff." (Lol, thanks Echo... I thought I was posting funny stuff...)

Anyway, so I have a story relating to Echo today, because I have been leaving her out lately. Plus, I have quite a few single life/drunkenness stories to catch up on.

Here goes:

It was New Year's Eve just last year, and Echo and I had this brilliant plan that we were going to both get marvelously plastered at Eli's Bar. Normally, we take turns being the Sober Driver (See: Babysitter), and so really there has only been one or two times that we were drunk simultaneously.

But this was a dumb idea because:
1. we didn't plan ahead on who would be driving us home at the end of the night,
2. we didn't seem to be remember the level of Stupid-Drunk we could both attain,
and
3. we didn't think about who would be taking care of our drunk asses all night.

We get to Eli's Bar early and all is well until after we have 2-3 pitchers of beer. Yeah, I'm not entirely sure how many we had the entire night. Maybe 4-5 total... I lost track. Toward the end of the night, after the beer had sunk into our brains, we went up to order another before going back out on the dance floor.

At this point, we obviously have had enough:

We drunkenly ask the bartender: "Should we get another pitcher?"

The bartender replies: "You can't take a pitcher on the dance floor." (I'm positive now that he must have been rolling his eyes, and we just didn't notice at the time.)

Me, turning to Echo: "I want to dance."

Echo, to the bartender: "Yeah, we're gonna dance."

Bartender, still playing babysitter: "Do you want Miller Lite or Bud Light in bottles?"

Echo and me, in unison: "F_ck Miller!"

Don't ask where this simultaneous outburst came from, since we'd been drinking Miller Lite all night long by the pitcher, and remarking on how much better it was than Bud Light.

We go back out to the dance floor and after a short while, our Bud Lites are gone and we are completely out of money. Echo is dancing with this random drunk guy who offers her a drink from his mysterious green-bottled beer. (Much later, I did some research and found that the mystery beer had to have been either Heineken or Rolling Rock.) She takes a drink, and then (not asking him or anything!) passes it to me and I take a drink too.

I yell: "That's pretty good!"

Echo says: "What is it?"

I say: "It tastes like water!"

You know you've had too much to drink when you drink a stranger's Green Mystery Beer and it tastes like water. This is the point of no return, people. You've literally drunk your taste buds to death. (Note: This is also the point in which I lose most of my hearing as well. For example, if a stranger talks to me, I assume they are speaking a foreign language. This may or may not lead to me making out with them in order to shut them up.)

Anyway, we drained his beer between the two of us. And then Echo gave him back the empty bottle.

Meanwhile, I am slapping at this guy's hands because he is untying Echo's lace-up top. (Similar style shown here.) It's not that he would untie her and her shirt would be gaping open, it just had the ties hanging down untied. I'm not sure what he was thinking untying her, but I was thinking "Get off my friend, drunk ass" while I slapped at him. And Echo doesn't even notice what's going on, and only realizes her top is unlaced the next morning.

So, at around midnight, we decide that it's time to go outside and call a cab to come and pick us up. I am dialing and dialing, not realizing that the busy signal is not going away. This was my first New Year's without a Designated Driver... the first New Year where I planned on calling a cab to come get us at the end of the night. And the first New Year that I learned that New Year's Eve is the #1 busiest night for the cab companies. In fact, we may very well have called back 100 times and never gotten through.

We go over to stand by my car instead of standing in front of the bar. I am still trying to call the cab company over and over again, even though it's extremely difficult to dial, even though I am just hitting redial (it's ONE key!), because I am so freaking trashed.

I tell Echo: "Dude, dial them on your phone too." She gets her phone and attempts to dial in the phone number as I read it to her. Who the hell knows what number she called, or if she even got 7 numbers dialed at all. So, we are starting to panic just a little, wondering how we will get home, and Echo is literally rolling on the front side-panel of my car, repeating "I don't want to go to jail tonight, Jen."

I say: "Well my house isn't that far, we could always walk there." Except it IS that far! And let's keep in mind, it's winter in Omaha, Nebraska... it's freakin cold outside. But Echo and I, pretty much wasted, are wearing only very light, slighty-slutty, bar-scene clothing and complaining because "It's HOT!!!" Echo is saying this while she continues to roll on my car. I have no idea why she's rolling on my car. (She doesn't know why either.) But the next day I find out that she actually left a dent in that spot she was rolling on at my front side-panel (above the wheel).

Granted, I drive a little practically-made-out-of-an-aluminum-can Kia Rio, but Echo is not a big girl! Can you imagine the sheer force required to leave such a large dent in a car for a little chick like her!? It's like she body-slammed herself into the side of my car. I mean, usually you get dents from, oh say, OTHER CARS. But not me... I get dents from DRUNK ROLLING FRIENDS!

Anyway, so I end up calling a friend of ours to come and get us and drive us home. We were about 10 minutes from either walking home or calling my mom. Seriously, those are equal punishments in our eyes. Apparently walking 15+ blocks in the freezing winter night and dying from pneumonia two days later is equivalent to lowering ourselves to middle school status and calling Mommy to come pick us up.

About a half hour after we get home, the real fun begins.

And in the morning:

Echo: "Jen, did I just walk in the bathroom last night and get sick?"

Me: "Actually dude, you freakin crawled."

Echo: "Oh my god. I kinda remember that now."

Me: "Don't feel bad. I did the exact same thing."

Rules at the bar.

Tiffany's rules for proper etiquette at your local bar or restaurant:
(she's a bartender, she knows these things.)

1. do not enter a restaurant and expect a table for 6 or more people without a reservation.

2. do not ask for separate checks for parties of 6 or more. if you are in a smaller party and will require separate checks, make sure to let your server know BEFORE ordering your food.

3. never touch your waitperson. EVER!!!!!

4. i don't care how bad you need a side of mayo or an extra napkin, NEVER walk up to your waitperson and interrupt him/her while they are engaged at another table. EVER. seriously.

5. When the bartender is slammed, resist the powerful urge to order a slightly-dirty, very-dry, in-and-out, super-chilled half-and-half martini with a lemon twist. Limit orders to beer, straight shots and two-part cocktails. (this one i agree is just THE POLITE thing to do, but not a stead-fast rule. at least not at my bar.)

6. Get the bartender's attention with eye contact and a smile; do not get the bartender's attention by waving money around, yelling (especially if he/she is talking someone's order or has his/her back to you), slamming your glass on the bar, whistling at, or touching the bartender.

7. Do not make eye contact with the bartender if you do not want a drink.

8. Never, ever tell a bartender he made your drink too strong.

9. If you offer to buy a woman a drink and she refuses, she does not like you.

10. If you offer to buy a woman a drink and she accepts, she still might not like you.

11. If she buys you a drink, she likes you. or she might just be being polite because you bought her a drink and she's returning the favor. women are mysterious. deal with it.

12. If someone offers to buy you a drink, do not upgrade your liquor preference.

13. After your sixth drink, do not look at yourself in the mirror. It will shake your confidence.

14. It is only permissible to shout 'woo-hoo!' if you are doing a shot with four or more people.

15. If there is a d.j., you can request a song only once per night. If he doesn't play it within half an hour, do not approach him again. If he does play it, do not approach him again.

16. If you can't afford to tip, you can't afford to drink in a bar. Go to the liquor store.

17. Never complain about the quality or brand of a free drink.

18. If you are the bar's sole customer, you are obliged to make small talk with the bartender until he stops acknowledging you. Then you're off the hook. The same goes for him.

19. If you have ever told a bartender, “Hey, it all spends the same,” then you are a cheap ass.

20. Anyone on stage or behind a bar is fifty percent better looking.

21. A bar is a college, not a nursery. If you spill a beer, clean it up. If you break a glass, wait for a staff member to clean it up.

22. Never yell out jukebox selections to someone you don't know.

23. If you think you might be slurring a little, then you are slurring a lot. If you think you are slurring a lot, then you are not speaking English. (THIS IS ME!)

24. Screaming, “Someone buy me a drink!” has never worked. (Ahem!)

25. Never rest your head on a table or bar top. It is the equivalent of voluntarily putting your head on a chopping block.

26. If you're going to hit on a member of the bar staff, make sure you tip well before and after, regardless of her response. (Does the bouncer count?!)

27. Asking a bartender what beers are on tap when the handles are right in front of you is the equivalent of saying, “I'm an idiot.”

28. Never ask a bartender “what's good tonight?” They do not fly in the scotch fresh from the coast every morning.

29. If there is a line for drinks, get your goddamn drink and step the hell away from the bar. (Now if only people would follow this advice!!)

30. Never argue your tab at the end of the night. Remember, you're hammered and they’re sober. It's akin to a precocious five-year-old arguing the super-string theory with a physicist. 99.9% of the time you're wrong and either way you're going to come off as a jackass.

31. If you hesitate more than five seconds after the bartender looks at you, you do not deserve a drink. it is extremely rude to stand at the bar looking like you're about to have a stroke from the anxiety of whether you will be waited on next or not, and then not know what you want to order when the bartender gets to you.

32. Never preface a conversation with a bartender with “I know this is going to be a hassle, but . . .”

33. Anyone with three or more drinks in his hands has the right of way. (No one at Eli's understands this concept.)

34. 15% is the new 10%.


Thanks again, Tiffany. Aaaaand I have a couple of my own:

35. If you bring in your purse, wallet, shoes, keys, shirt, etc you are fully responsible for your own crap. If you take off your shoes and leave them under your table or forget your keys at the booth while you go to dance, keep in mind the bar staff is not your personal Lost and Found. If you don't wanna lose it, don't bring it in.

36. If the D.J. is talking over the top of your favorite song while you are dancing, just chill the hell out man!! Don't scream at him to shut up. He can't hear you, but the other people dancing can. It's not the end of the world, and damnit EVERY SONG IS YOUR FAVORITE, DRUNK ASS.

37. Don't make out with strangers at the bar that you frequent on a regular basis, just because you are too drunk to understand what they are saying and want to shut them up. You will regret it. (And more than likely your best friend will have to keep this person from taking you home with him.)

38. If you fall out of your chair more than twice within the same hour, you need to either A. leave the bar, you've had enough or B. go sit in a booth where you (hopefully) will not be able to fall out of your seat. :)

39. Do NOT rest your head on the toilet seat in the restroom in ANY public place, let alone at a bar. If you need to lay your head down, the floor is cleaner. (I swear to god, this one is not about me.)

40. Do not drunkenly tell two girls that are making out in the restroom that "you should not be doing that"... they will immediately be 10-seconds from kicking your ass. In fact, don't try and convey your ideas to anyone for any reason. Keep your drunk dumbass opinions to yourself or risk getting in a bar fight with other drunk dumbasses. (Actually, what I meant was that they were sitting up on the sink while making out, partially blocking both the paper towel area and the second sink. I don't care if they make out, but just do it in a more considerate area.)

Clueless wasn't just a movie.

I'm decided I'd try really hard to write something real today instead of just taggy-posts and photos of puppies. I thought I'd share with you a few of my online dating experiences from the past. If you haven't tried online dating, don't read this because it may keep you from ever trying it. And although I have some pretty bad stories, I have some pretty amazing ones as well. :) As a self-admitted geek girl, I am a good bait in the sea of online-dating. And usually that's the best place to find fellow geeks.

But that doesn't mean I want the freaks too:

• The Vague Guy

This guy messages me after I've been on the site for about a week. His message says only this:
it looks like we have a lot in common, check out my profile. write back if you're interested.

So I go to read his profile, and it reads as follows...

Headline: Looking for girl with common interests.
Interests: I like everything.
Description: I like to have fun.

Seriously, that is all it said. Read it again if you didn't get it. He's looking for a girl with common interests... and he likes everything?! Uhm. Come on buddy, just admit that you are looking for ANY girl. You're not fooling anyone.

And who the hell doesn't like having fun? When people say they like to have fun in their profiles, my reply is usually "I don't like fun, sorry. It would never work out."

• The Superficial Serial Killer

Okay, so this guy messages me and actually sounds like he owns and fully operates a Personality. However, this isn't always a good thing.

Chat with him went something like this:

Me, casually: so, what are you into?
Superficial Serial Killer Guy, replies: well [insert normal interests here]... and I also am really into serial murders.
Me, confused: what do you mean by that? (thinking: Am I on Candid Camera?!)
Superficial Serial Killer Guy, appearing to be quite serious: i chose to do this paper in grade school about serial killers and ever since then i have been doing a ton of research on various cases. i even correspond with a few prisoners on a regular basis that are currently awaiting sentencing. it's really interesting to hear their side of the story.

Uhm... their side of the story? Ya know what...
There usually isn't any other side to hear but theirs, since THE OTHER SIDE IS DEAD.

Well, besides this he seems... normal. I guess. I decide (stupidly) to ignore this "unique and quirky" interest and try and get to know him better before judging him. (FOOL!) I haven't told him anything personal about me and he can't kill me over yahoo messenger (though I'm sure they're working on this technology), so I feel pretty safe just talking to him more.

However, this finishes it:

Superficial Serial Killer Guy: You've seen my photo, do you have a photo to share?
Me, still ignoring the killer thing: Sure thing.
[I send a couple photos through yahoo picture chat.]
[He looks at photos.]
Superficial Serial Killer Guy: Well, you're not ugly.

I wish I was making this up.

Me, completely shocked: What?
Superficial Serial Killer Guy: You know, you're not stunning or anything but you're not unnattractive. I'm just being honest.
Me, pretty effing pissed: Uhm. Excuse the hell out of me. It's real nice to hear that I'm "not ugly" and everything, but honesty is not an excuse for being an asshole. There are more tactful ways of saying it, like "you're not my type" or ANYTHING but "well, you're not ugly".
Superficial Serial Killer Guy: Sometimes the truth hurts.
Me, preparing to block him: Well, the truth is that you're a psycho and you can't really afford to be picky.

Blocked! This stunning bitch likes getting the last word.

• The Guy My Friends Scared Away

There was nothing really wrong with this guy, he just got scared off because my friends are INSANE. I can't say that I blame him. I was 18 and had just broken up with a guy who hurt me pretty bad, so all my friends were in Extremely-Protective Mode.

He and I went out to dinner at McFoster's Natural Kind Cafe (he thought it was very cool that I was vegetarian). He was a total gentlemen, we talked a ton and meshed really well, and then he drove me home. We get to my house and we're lingering in the driveway because he's obviously working up the nerve to kiss me goodnight.

A car pulls up in front of my house, and one of my friends (now a former friend, but not because of this) gets out, and it's painfully obvious she only showed up in order to check him out. She made up a really lame excuse on why she stopped by and I glared at her until she left.

Okay, so he and I recovered quickly from that awkward moment, and even laughed it off. However, about 5 minutes later another car pulls up. It's a different friend this time, showing up to check on me with yet another lame excuse. At the point, I am just mortified. These things are not supposed to happen after you pass a certain age, like say, age 12.

And I can tell that this guy is thinking "Uhm okay this chick is too immature/crazy or her friends are... I'm going to end up dating her friends too, like we're in freakin middle school." I'm sure that at any minute he was expecting another of my friends to show up, or worse yet to find my parents hiding in the backseat of his car.

Suffice it to say, he never called me again.
I wouldn't have called me either!

• The Clueless Countryboy

This story is not for the faint of heart. There's some descriptive gore involved. I mean it.

I talked to this guy via email after he messaged me. He was from a really small farming town somewhere in Nebraska. (This was before I learned my lesson about long distance and hadn't yet changed my profile to exclude people outside of Omaha or very nearby.) He seemed nice enough, although quite rough around the edges. His spelling and grammar were atrocious, but I didn't hold it against him. I try really hard not to be a total freaking bitch about spelling and grammar. I make mistakes too... I'm not an English professor or a professional writer or anything even close to that. Sometimes all it takes is that I'm smart enough to use the effing spellcheck.

Anyway, we discuss my vegetarianism in the first couple emails. He's never met a veg*ian and so I tell him a little about why I am one. He seems to understand and is quite accepting. Then, we exchange photos...

He sends me 3-4 different photos of himself, but the last photo is the one he comments... (spelling/punctuation/grammar has been dramatically corrected)...

"Here is me with my latest kill. Check out that beauty."

The photo shows him with a large hunting rifle, standing over the carcass of a freshly killed deer. There is blood everywhere. I can even see what appears to be the source of most of the blood... there is a large wound directly on the top of the deer's head.

First of all... how the hell do you shoot a deer directly on the TOP of its head? Was he high up above it on a hill or ridge and shot down? Or did he shoot the deer in the head after the initial kill in order to make the photograph MORE MANLY. "Ugh ugh kill kill, ugh me shoot in head."

Anyway, second of all... we had literally just finished talking my being a long-time vegetarian and that the entire reason was because I LOVE ANIMALS. So, he sent me a photo of him after he'd killed one, expecting me to be impressed?

My email reply to Clueless Countryboy: Uhm, those are good photos, except the last one is kind of scary... Is that real?

Clueless Countryboy's reply to this (writing has been vastly corrected): Scary, huh? Never heard it called that before. Of course it's real, that was my favorite kill too. We had Bambi jerky for a month.

#1. I'm a girl he's trying to impress (or maybe not), and his way of doing that is to show me a blood-filled photo of a cute little completely dead deer he just killed.
#2. I'm a vegetarian and he's bragging not only about killing an animal but also about gobbling it up afterwards. (I guess I would prefer it go to use since he's already killed it, but... that's really not the point at all.)

Uhm, okay, so he's a little... slow. Nothing wrong with that, right? Okay, we're talking slower than Forest Gump here, people. We're talking dropped-multiple-times-as-a-baby slow, I think. I didn't bother explaining again to him the reasons why I was horrified/disgusted. I told him that I wasn't interested in talking with him anymore because of the distance and completely different interests/beliefs/etc. Which is entirely the truth, because I am interested in mellow acoustic folk music, Nintendo, and playing with my dog Molly... and he's interested in shooting at living things and smearing their blood on his face while he beats his chest like an ape.

So I don't think it would have worked out.

Girl meets boy.

Girl meets boy at Borders for coffee.
Girl decides in her head that she doesn't want to drink any coffee because she hopes to be kissing the boy by the end of the night.

Girl made a wise choice.

Also, boy read girl's ENTIRE blog...
...and still likes her. (whoa!!)

Hi.


(idea lovingly stolen from cars & boston cremes.)

Wanted: must love dogs, not just yourself.

Have you seen that movie Must Love Dogs? Yeah... me neither, it looked like it sucked. (What the hell happened to John Cusack? He has been doing a ton of that cookie-cuttered romantic comedy CRAP lately. I miss you, Martin Blank!)

Anyway, Must Love Dog's basic premise is that some chick writes in her personal ad that the guy "must love dogs". That's basically all you need to know, you don't need to see the movie now. (I swear to god this is leading somewhere...)

Anyway, that reminds me of a date I had about a year ago...

I met this guy in the wonderful world of online-dating and he seemed fairly normal, although he was probably too old for me at 30. Okay, and by "too old" I mean boring... because I've met 30 year olds that I got on with very well. And by "too old" I also mean he looked more like 45. Because of this guy, I now realize that 27 or 28 should be my age cut-off because a substantial portion of my thoughts/interests/hobbies revolve around things that are generation-specific. (But then... I always see "older" guys that are still totally hot and I don't even believe they are not under 28!! So... I have no idea what to do still.)

Anyway, we talked a bit and then decided to meet for lunch. (I really think that lunch is the best first date. It is just casual enough to be not be overwhelming for either party, and it leaves the entire evening open for bitching or squealing to my friends.)

We met at Ahmad's Persian Cuisine in the Old Market. As I have stated in a previous dating story, this is my favorite restaurant. The guy shows up in this huge old Cadillac, a true pimp car, the kind that my grandparents wouldn't even drive because it's so ugly and dated. I am a fan of old cars, believe me, but this one was just a joke. Of course I'd never judge a guy solely on his choice of vehicle, so I pushed the thought away.

Then I see him, and he's wearing a silk shirt with corduroy pants and, the icing on the godawful cake, socks and sandals.

This was in winter, people. There was snow on the ground. It was well past time to put away the sandals, not add socks to them. I know you love your sandals. I love sandals too. But I know when it's time to say "bye bye now, see you next spring".
Also, I am not knocking corduroy itself. I have a cute corduroy purse, my winter coat is corduroy, and I think corduroy blazers/jackets are sexy on guys in a retro/indie rocker/Sherlock Holmes kind of way: But I am saying that in pants-form it reminds me of my grandpa. That is all.

The silk shirt... should be self explanatory. Guys, if your shirt is more reflective than your date's shirt, then you have already failed. If you are not currently performing on a broadway stage then you have no business wearing a silk shirt. Period.

This is when I wonder to myself if Mr. Socks-and-Sandals here has ever had a girlfriend in his entire 30 years. See, a perpetually single guy will continue to wear these horrible things simply because there is no nit-picky shrew around to say "Good GOD is that what you're wearing?!" And believe me, you would have screamed that in your head if you saw this guy.

Anyway, so I decide to ignore the clothes, because obviously that is not what makes or breaks it. I may be a fashion-bitch in my mind, but I don't let it effect my actual judgements. (Especially when you consider that I have dated a cowboy.)

So, we're chatting over dinner and he remarks that the food is "not as good as his mother's". Oh man. Okay, I get that your mom was a great cook, that's great. But uhh, this isn't your mom's spaghetti and meatballs from scratch, this is Persian food from a very ecclectic and romantic restaurant. If you think this food isn't good enough, wait til you find out that I can't cook. So I tell him that I can't cook, because I figure it's about as good of time as any.

He says: But... you are going to learn, right?

He says it very slowly, as if I am completely useless to him without knowing how to make meatloaf just like his mommy.

Uhm... not for you, jerkface. I'll learn when I wanna learn, damnit. And when I do, it won't involve any meat, so you'll likely not be too thrilled about that either. I'm sorry, Mr. Socks-and-Sandals, but I am not a domestic diva, okay? I'd rather mow the lawn.

You know, I have this tiny unattainable fantasy of my future love and I working in the kitchen together at dinner time. Like, he will be making his meat-related crapola, and I will be making my microwaveable soy crap and/or side salads for both of us. And we are talking and laughing and sharing stories of our day while we make our respective dinners. It sounds kind of romantic to me, cooking together like that. I don't like the idea of one person in the kitchen making all the meals every single day. Why can't it be a fun time spent together after a long day at work? Yeah well. I can dream.

So, back to the story, I decide to change the subject and he suggests that we walk around the Old Market for a while. Only after complaining that the meal was too pricey. (It was under 25 for both of us.) When I tell him that I consider Ahmad's to be one of the more reasonably priced restaurants in the Old Market, he admits to being "stingy" and says he almost never goes out to eat because it's "a waste of money". (So, your 4 Cadillacs were not a waste?!) Oh my god.

Mr. Socks-and-Sandals is a talker (primarily about himself), which is fine with me, since I am quite shy and usually don't know what to say. I'm trying really hard to get to know him so I can find something worth liking about him, but the things he's talking about are putting me off more and more.

• He's extremely fascinated with 80's wrestlers, like Hulk Hogan and Jesse 'The Body' Ventura. Okaaaay... so everyone has weird interests, right? Totally normal although slightly quirky... right?
  
• He loves his 4 old ugly pimp cars more than life itself. Seriously. Who the hell has 4 cars? And not even one single practical car, just 4 completely useless and way-to-expensive ugly pieces of gas-guzzling crap.
  
• He really loves gardening... with his mother. SERIOUSLY!
• He likes football almost as much as his cars and mother. (I am borderline anti-sports.)
  

None of which interests me, even in the least. But I listen and comment politely. During a brief silence, I ask if he has any pets. Because hello, I love animals.

He makes a big show of being exasperated and says: You're not one of those dog people, are you?

Me: Uhm. Yes I am. (See Molly photo, stage right.)

Mr. Socks-and-Sandals: I don't get dogs.

Me, confused: What?

Mr. Socks-and-Sandals: I just don't get them. What is the point? They don't even do anything. You have to do everything for them. It's like having a baby for 15 years straight. I just don't see what the big deal is. It must be a woman thing.

Me, now trying to remember where I parked so I can easily escape this sexist dog-hating maniac: Uhhh, ok. It's not just a "woman thing". Haven't you ever heard of man's best friend? It's about loyalty and companionship... unconditional love and even more unconditional cuteness. Haven't you ever had a dog?

Mr. Socks-and-Sandals: Well, no, I've never had one before.

Me, feeling clever: But... you are going to learn, right?

Mr. Socks-and-Sandals: No, I don't see why I should have to own a dog if I don't care for them.

Me: Okay... Maybe you would if you had a girlfriend that loved them. (No response from him) So you just don't like things depending on you unless they are in Cadillac-form?

Mr. Socks-and-Sandals, perhaps realizing that I think he's an ass: Uhm, let's check out this bookstore here...

We go into this bookstore and I immediately see this book with a cover photo that looks just like Molly would have as a puppy. There's even the little grey goatee spot! (Though the spot has been growing a lot bigger now that she's 9.)

But jeez, so cute!

And... I bought it, squealingly, just to spite him.

The search: pros and cons.

I decided to weigh my options here before I make any drastic decisions on whether or not to keep dating or just give up altogether. The "pros" are reasons that I should keep dating and searching and digging and stressing over finding the guy for me and doing the whole relationship thing, and the "cons" are the reasons I should give up completely and get 66 cats. (I know, stole that cat reference from Echo!)

Pro: Someone to curl up on the couch with and watch Family Guy. (Aww. Now that's romance.)
Con: That same someone keeps talking during Family Guy, and also tries to explain every single 80's reference to me, like I am completely retarded.

Pro: Getting married one day to someone I love.
Con: Dragging him kicking-and-screaming down the aisle because he's not going to do it willingly.

Pro: Waking up next to that special someone in the morning.
Con: Wanting to punch him all night long because he stole my pillow.

Pro: Someone that thinks I'm beautiful and says so.
Con: He forgets my birthday, our anniversary, and everything else on earth that doesn't look or sound like "tv" or "sex".

Pro: Someone that will tease me lovingly and let me tease back.
Con: He takes it too far and it's just not funny after the 400th time. And that laugh of his is driving me INSANE.

Pro: Someone that will want to hang out with my friends and I, even though we act like we're 12 some of the time.
Con: He acts like he's 12 all the time.

Pro: Having that comforting "what should we do tonight, babe?" conversation. :)
Con: We can never decide on anything together! "Screw it, I'm going out with Echo instead."

Pro: Someone to be intimate with, in a monogamous environment filled with love and devotion to one another.
Con: 4 months later: "NO, I will NOT have a threesome! Let it die already!!!"

Pro: Making up after having dumb arguments.
Con: Breaking up after having dumb arguments.

Pro: Hearing him say "I promise you, I will love you always."
Con: Hearing him say "I promise you, she meant nothing to me!"

Pro: In a committed relationship, I wouldn't have to deal with dating anymore.
Con: If we break up, I have to freakin start all over again.


Oh yeah, and I love this comment from one of my blogger friends:

"And, let me just say, you're a gamer, how could a guy not fall in love with you at the thought of that alone? :)"

I know it! I thought that would be the case but it only serves to attract more potheads than can you could ever imagine. Lol. Thank you, Michelle!!

Venting and more Wii whiiniing.

I need to vent! And there's no one around but my blog. :(

Why is it that girls (namely, me) like guys that aren't even into them? And then feel nothing for guys that actually like them. Oh, maybe there is something wild and exciting about a guy who doesn't give a crap about you and kinda treats you like you're not even there. Oooh yeah, makes me hot just thinking about it. Right...

It's just frustrating. I'm a typical chick, I think about these things. If I care enough to think about them. And often it makes me want to pull an Echo and say screw it, I give up! I'm getting closer to thinking that's a good idea, at least for a while. And that's not me... I'm usually (suprisingly) positive when it comes to dating. It's just that lately it's been extremely disheartening.

And I'm a good catch, damnit. I'm likely not very cute or in shape or anything physically spectacular, but I see wholly unattractive girls with no personality with guys all the time. Granted those are not the kind of guys I want, but still. It's proof that there are non-shallow guys out there, somewhere...? And I've had boyfriends say (aka: lie) that I'm beautiful, so some guys think I'm alright, damnit.

I'm quirky in all the right ways. Enough to make me interesting and entertaining and loveable, but not anything that would be considered "baggage". I'm patient, understanding, and would put up with quite a lot. Yet I still stand my ground, I'm my own person, and I maintain my own opinions and beliefs independently (basically, not a doormat or a pushover that cannot be respected). And I do communicate extremely well (if I'm getting the same in return). So where the hell is my match? And why why why do I keep meeting guys that don't even like me?

Okay! I reached my quota of self-pity for the year. Back to the dating pool, I suppose.

I have yet to hear what colors the Nintendo Wii will be released in. First I hear they announced the official colors (as pictured) and I see those photos all over the web. And now I'm hearing vague stories that only the white Wii will be out at launch. I'm sorry guys, but I'm afraid it's slightly a big deal for me to get the color I want. I decided I'm not gonna go as far as to wait it out for a "good color", but however you will hear me bitch quite a bit if I end up with a plain old white Wii.

If/when I get a white Wii, I'll be shopping for skins ASAP! I skinned my platinum Gamecube and it's just darling. (photo is of a black Gamecube with same skin) See how cute?!

It's like shoes, okay? You want them to be both cute and functional, otherwise why pay $249.99 for them? (Damn, those are some expensive shoes.) Except these shoes are freakin' awesome and you can play video games on them (in a way that no other console can).

We're getting step-by-step closer to full-on interactive gaming, a form of virtual-reality so to speak, but in the privacy of your own home. Gaming geeks everywhere are getting all tingly and probably squealing in anticipation (I won't tell, but you know it's true). What seemed to be merely science fiction 50 years ago is gradually becoming a reality that you can have in your own living room.

Okay. That's enough of my atrocious similies today.

Mind your manners.

On a Friday night, Echo and I get to Eli's Bar & Grille early (as usual) and hang around waiting for it to pick up. Echo is drinking beer and I'm fairly sure there were a couple jagerbombs in there too. I'm the sober driver, so I'm drinking a Diet Coke and trying to convince Echo to go ask this cute guy to dance with her. She and I both know that when I'm not drunk, I'm not gonna dance. So basically she's on her own unless she finds a dude (which not hard to do for Echo at Eli's!).

So, I see this really cute guy "wearing a nice shirt", standing by himself just off of the dance floor. That's my thing... I seek out the guys wearing nice shirts and then nag at Echo to go talk to them. To me, a nice shirt says they probably have a job. In reality, all it means is that they spent $4 on a clearance-bin dress shirt at Wal-Mart in order to pick up chicks that are a gullible as I am.

A couple jager-bombs later, Echo is brave enough to approach him and ask him to dance. Mr.Manners-Wearing-Nice-Shirt very politely declines and says he is waiting for someone. Annoyed, she comes back to her chair next to me at the bar and says, "God!" I'm annoyed too and I want a candy bar, so I suggest we drive over to the gas station around the corner. Echo goes in and heads to the back to go to the restroom, wherein she literally runs into this cute guy that I named Lawnmower Boy. After we head back to Eli's, we notice that cute Lawnmower Boy has come in too. Small world! Or should I say, small parking lot.

About 5 minutes after we sit down, the Mr.Manners-Wearing-Nice-Shirt that Echo approached earlier comes up to us and politely asks if he can sit with us. He politely says that he isn't from around here and would like to just hang out with us because we seem really nice. He politely sits down. (Notice I'm describing him as "polite" quite a bit. That's because he's freakin way too polite. Like, disturbingly polite.)

Extremely polite introductions are made. His name is Marshall, who we would later dub "Marshall Manners". (God I'm clever.) He says that he's waiting for his girlfriend to show up. He just finished taking her and her friends out to dinner (he paid for everyone) and she asked him to meet her here.

Marshall Manners tells us that he works on an oil rig down in Texas Louisiana or something like that. His company pays for his commute back to Omaha once or twice a month. And all his meals, entertainment, cab rides (his car stays in Texas Louisiana), and all other expenses while he's here. If this isn't unbelievable enough, the guy has travelled all over the world with this job and his accent is just plain hilarious.

He sounds like Keanu Reeves as the surfer-dude/moron from Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, mixed with Hugh Grant's ultra-polite British accent, and then finally mixed in with Matthew McConaughey's Stoner/Southern accent. So, a Duuuuuuude-British-Southern accent.


It turns out later that evening that his girlfriend has ditched him for "an old friend"... to go see a movie about boxing. Yes, the 'old friend' is a guy, yes that was her oh-so-believable story, and YES, he actually believed it. And she doesn't even call to tell him she's ditching him. He has to call her a couple times wondering where the hell she is (super politely) until she picks up, and I can hear him being a complete doormat while he's on the phone with her. What kind of girl is this?! And more importantly, what kind of moron is he?

Echo still wants to dance and she's pretty tipsy at this point. And damn Marshall Manners is just plain boring yakkety yakking away, so I don't blame her when she goes off to dance with Lawnmower Boy that she has previously ran into at the gas station. Meanwhile, I sit and talk with Marshall, who really seems to be The Nicest Guy on Earth and also The Biggest Pushover. Echo and the cute guy come back after a little while and I hear that the guy does miscellaneous landscaping work. Uhm, okay. I always wonder if that's true or just a cover-up for "mows lawns".

So, before Echo leaves again to continue dancing with Lawnmower Boy, she hears from Marshall Manners that he's planning on taking a cab home (remember, he takes cabs everywhere because his car is in Texas Louisiana). Now, let me give you a little background on this: One of us is always the drunk, the other always drives. The drunk one always volunteers us to give rides home to whatever strangers we happen meet throughout the night.

I do it all the time: "Echo Echo Echo (poking her) , we have to take [complete stranger we just met] home. They shouldn't drive. Really, Echo. We have to take them home, okay? Echo, okay?" So, Echo tells him we will take him home. In fact, she is forced to insist because of course Mr. Manners doesn't want to accept at first. He finally does, and I give Echo a look like, "UHMMMM, what did you just do?!" which she doesn't notice because she's leaving to dance.

Well, going to Eli's as often as we do, you start to notice that literally everyone there gets plastered as the night goes on. A group of girls were drunkenly buying a round of shots near Marshall and me, and accidentally ordered an extra. This is not unusual for drunk people to miscount their own group of friends. They shoved it in my face at first, but when I refused they gave it to Mr. Manners.

Marshall Manners: What is it?
Extremely drunk girl: I dunno, alcohol?
Marshall Manners: Golly gee. (or something similar, in a Duuuude-British-Southern accent)

After he took the shot I could tell he was getting quite drunk. This actually made him talk more. Blah blah blah. I sip my Diet Coke and mentally record his accent because it is frickin strange. Meanwhile, Echo is off dancing with Lawnmower Boy.

Last call comes around and the three of us leave. Marshall Manners politely gets into the backseat of my car, while Echo sits up front next to me. As we drive, we're asking Marshall bluntly why the hell he's still with his inconsiderate girlfriend. I'm blunt because, well, I usually am, but Echo is the bad kind of blunt... DRUNK BLUNT. Somehow the conversation leads there, and Marshall confides quite seriously that his girlfriend had a form of cancer a while back and cannot have children. I'm not even sure how this got brought up, but he told us.

For reasons unknown to me, this makes Echo laugh. Yes, Echo laughed at cancer. That's when I realize that I may in fact be going to hell just by association. Mind you, she's a little drunk, but I scold her with an "Echo!" though this doesn't seem to stop her. I think she thought he was kidding or something, I have no idea.

But this obviously doesn't phase Mr. Marshall Manners, who is still a little drunk, and when we stop at his house to drop him off, he leans in from the backseat and gazes at Echo and says "You have such beautiful eyes" and touches her cheek.

Okay... So let's break down the logic here: You're not gonna hit on the girl that patiently listened to you yammer on all night long and drove your drunk ass home. You're hitting on the girl that laughs at cancer. OKAY THEN.

Thus concludes yet another completely insane night at Eli's! Hope to see you all there next time. Believe me... it will be interesting.

Make dating fun for everyone.

Everyone knows dating sucks. So why is it that we have to do it? Can't we just skip that step? (Cartoon from a blog called I could take over the world.)

Googling the words "dating sucks" randomly (I get frustrated, okay?!) will get you this strange Craig's List entry, which I edited and will post for you now:

How to [Screw] with First Dates

• (For men) Tag on real sardonic "for a girl" to all your compliments, as in, "That skirt looks really nice on you... for a girl."
• Constantly hint that you are an alien, as in "Oh, that reminds me of Zorkog 4... uh... I mean Venice."
• Greet date with gifts:
  
• a) a stack of wrestling magazines
• b) your dirty laundry
• c) black orchids--the flower of death
• d) a bag of marbles.
• Refuse to veer conversation away from Tom Cruise.
• Excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, come back sopping wet, offer no explanation. Periodically squeeze your clothes out as the date continues.
  
• Eat only the parsley at dinner, lament the wasteful excessive meat and potatoes garnish.
• Fill pants with mulch, let a little fall out from time to time, whisper, "Oh no, it's happening again." Crying is optional.
  
• Upon meeting her, scrape finger across her shoulder, taste it and say, "You'll do."
• Wear a Members Only jacket, jams, and a Spuds MacKenzie hat. Make references to '80's culture as if it were topical, e.g. "Have you seen that new 'Pretty in Pink' movie?"
• Greet date with the classic "Give me five, up high, down low, you're too slow." Shooting her the double finger-guns is optional.
  
• Repeatedly use the word "milkweed" as an adjective, as in "This has been really milkweed."
• Boast about your ligament strength.
• Give her fake but believable information like:
• a) Paul Newman has a clubfoot,
• b) Frank Lloyd Wright designed this restaurant,
• c) Baboons are the only other species that engages in oral sex.
• Rub hands together and smile fiendishly as you talk.
• Two words: male perm.
• Four words: wear a name tag.
• Put parmesan cheese in your coffee. Complain to the waiter/waitress that your coffee "tastes a little cheesy". Repeat when fresh coffee is brought to you.
  
• When reviewing check, using your fingers to count, calculate with deadpan concentration.
• Every time your date begins to speak,
• a) open up a book
• b) yawn
• c) vomit.
• In an accusing tone, constantly compare your date unfavorably to Gollum, as in, "Gollum didn't smoke."
• If he/she leaves for the bathroom, switch
  
• a) tables
• b) clothes
• c) hairstyle
• d) gender.
• Attempt to do napkin origami. Fail. Be ruthlessly hard on yourself with "I suck"s and "I'm such a loser!"s.
• When he/she orders, shake head and smirk. If they inquire what the problem is, just laugh an intensely sarcastic, "No, good choice. Really."
• Speak all your statements with an interrogative inflection?
• Respond at entirely inappropriate times with "Is that a threat or an invitation?" or "Do the math."
• After successfully cutting meat, exclaim proudly, "I am the sh*t." Do that "raise the roof" gesture.

I KNEW IT. My dates have been memorizing this list! Those bastards.

Ahem. For my designer friends, check out: The Patron Saints of Graphic Design... very cute. And TechTales: a site about the idiots that call in to tech support.

I was going to write about emotional abuse, but who wants to hear about that? (Wait, wasn't that going to be my whole point anyway?)

I blame the rum and coke.

Jen: WHAT ARE YOU DOING
Jen: SHUT IT
Jen: hi
Jen: i'm very drunk
Jen: hi
Jen: WHERE ARE YOU
Jen: hell0o
Jen: hi? call me my phone is downstrairs
Jen: don' do it
Jen: hello'?
Jen: ok
Jen: ok bye!
Jen: hat is cute but no
Jen: okay echo is here but she hates it but i like it PIMP HAT yo wiki wiki wild wild west don't hate me bye bye okok we went to shark club and i had lilke 7 rum and cokes CALL ME DAMNIT ###-#### damnit

Okay. Apparently drinking 7 rum and coke's and 3-4 Miller Lites makes me want to instant message at 1:25 AM and be embarrassingly obnoxious and retarded. Meanwhile, Echo is standing behind me laughing because it takes me multiple tries to type each letter.

Dear readers, just be thankful I didn't decide to blog instead.